2
Dark L. sounded like a name for a gloomy teenage boy who thought he was confronting the whole world. It felt like a good choice when he was sixteen and started his street art career, signing his works with an “L” letter in black. L. was not a teenager any longer, but his anger at the world had not changed over the years. Nor had the amount of graffiti art he placed on various private and public buildings in the city.
Despite the hundreds of works he had produced over the years, no relief and no self-understanding were achieved. The only thing L. was gaining was popularity. Ever more rumors seemed to be circulating about the mysterious street artist and his identity. With all the excitement around him, costs of L.’s paintings had gone up at inexplicable rates. It did flatter him, even though he had no idea how one could even want to pay tens of thousands dollars for artwork on a building.
Those were barren thoughts to entertain his mind. On other nights, creating a piece of an art would’ve calmed him. Tonight, though even satisfied with his work, L. was still too mad at the world to go home and get rest. He was going to face his hateful reality tomorrow and make decisions that his free-spirited street artist alter ego would never accept or understand. He took another look at his nearly finished work.
Not bad. Not at all.
L. set back on the pavement, leaning against the wall as he pulled his goggles up from his eyes to rest on his brow. Nothing could replace the calm the night brought to him. The night was his to do as he pleased. L. belonged with its dark tranquility. The feeling of being freed of his daily responsibilities and hard decisions, the weight of his secret, the hectic hours at work... all of that seemed so far away when his only companions were the wind and the street lights. A slight smile crossed L’s lips as he imagined how mad his grandma would be if she saw him sprawled on the cold asphalt with bottles of spray paints all around, creating a mess in the city. She never approved of his way.
For L. this was not just a way of letting go of his rage. This was so much more, his personal battle against the great all-consuming gray that filled this city during the day. He thought he would sit for another minute and then get up and make a couple of final touches before wrapping up tonight’s session of his private, illegal fun. Right at that moment, something or rather someone tripped over his leg and fell right into his lap. L. was quick to react, catching the falling body before it crashed into him.
Not that heavy, he thought as he gently lowered her on the asphalt next to him. Probably some drunk chick heading home from some lame party.
He had been hearing the annoying clicking of her high heels on the asphalt even before she had appeared and literally fell into his arms.
“You alright there?” L. asked.
He didn’t really care much about her wellbeing, but if the chick broke a bone and needed an ambulance, that could cause some unwelcome attention to his unfinished artwork. Attention he didn’t need, especially when he still had some final touches to add. Annoyed at her silence, he had to repeat himself.
“You alive?” he turned to look at the unwelcomed intruder for the first time.
She was staring at him with her huge eyes. Her auburn hair that hardly reached her shoulders was a mess from the windy night. When she continued staring at him for another long moment, L. realized that she was trembling. He had not yet released her from his tight grip on her shoulders. He realized she was trembling from fear of him, with his black mask and the thick steampunk style goggles he wore to prevent the spray paint from getting in his eyes. Finally, a bandana wrapped across his face completed his criminal look.
“Relax, I’m not a serial killer or some type of a criminal,” he tried to assure her. “Well… that’s mostly true”.
L. was committing a crime, technically. According to the city authorities, his art was an act of vandalism. Still, he considered himself a very safe criminal for a young, drunk woman to be around.
“You look like one,” she finally spoke. “But I can see you aren’t… it’s in your eyes,” she said with a soft chuckle.
She has freckles on her nose and cheekbones, L. observed, barely paying attention to her words. Why do I even care? ... But they looked too sweet not to notice. They give her a cute charm, even as she is drunkenly laying on my chest...
He tried to push her away as soon as he realized that she was too close, but the woman was not as heavy as the alcohol in her system was stubborn.
“You see that in my eyes huh?” he mused.
L. knew his eyes were beautiful. No woman could bear that burning emerald green of his eyes. “Too intimidating,” many would’ve said. He was glad that his gaze formed some kind of protective box around him that nobody dared to overstep. Not that it seemed to work on this particular woman, though. She was still holding his gaze; to L.’s shame it was not he who kept her in his captivity, but her keeping him. A scowl formed on L.’s lips at the realization.
“Aww, don’t give me that angry look,” she suddenly bit her lower lip. “Can’t a single woman get drunk on her birthday and stumble through the city into the arms of a rather handsome criminal?”
L. could not help but smile, and was glad his black mask was covering the ear-to-ear beaming smile that he would’ve not been able to hide otherwise.
“A very single woman,” Enya repeated herself, making sure he understood and nodded at the word ‘very’.
“Happy birthday, I guess,” L. said as he let go of her shoulder and reached for her hand to shake.
Enya ignored L’s outstretched hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned against him with her whole body. She was very light, but her closeness and lack of inhibition intimidated L. all the same. Her scent filled his nostrils and flared his wild imagination.
Oh, no! Breaking one rule after the other, L. thought as he let his guard down for one second and lost himself in the world of fantasies. He was not a man to get attracted to strangers. He never desired a woman whom he did not know. He at least needed to know her name, and maybe a few more thing,s before thinking about all those things he wanted to do to her in the darkness of this night. He shook his head. Have I lost my mind?
“This is the best birthday hug I’ve had the whole day,” she murmured against his throat and L.’s treacherous body reacted to that innocent confession in an inappropriate manner. He groaned as he slightly shifted, trying to kill the excitement that was growing inside his body.
“Couldn’t be that bad,” he patted her shoulder, thinking it might be her cue to put some distance between them.
She did lean back, but stared right into his eyes with a determined look.
“Well, my birthdays always suck. That’s an official statement. But you won’t understand what it means to be a prisoner of your own life,” she sighed looked away.
With the gaze from the mysterious woman broken, L. felt ready to pay a fortune to get those stubborn brown eyes back staring at him. He suddenly felt lonely when she turned away from him.
“I know exactly how that feels,” he spoke the words against his better judgment.
“Says a street artist who can do anything he wants?” she laughed and looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was glad to have her attention back to him.
L. shook his head, “Come morning, I lose the freedom of being concealed in the dark of the night.”
For once, it felt good to share the darkness of the nights that normally belonged only to him. How could she be so funny and cute but at the same time feel fragile and brave? L. wasn’t sure what she really was, but he already found himself being pulled toward her. He was both attracted to her and annoyed at himself for being so.
“I have to add some final details to my work. You are welcome to stay if you want,” he said.
For the first time, her eyes landed on this huge piece of graffiti he had placed on the wall. Her mouth opened in surprise and for several moments her lips trembled. Her mouth opened and closed without letting out a single sound; she did not blink while taking in L.s work. He couldn’t tell if she liked or hated it, though he did find himself hoping for the former. As much as L. never cared about public opinion, he wanted his mysterious birthday girl to appreciate this special piece of himself that he suddenly felt like sharing.
Her hand found his, and she squeezed it. Her fingers were cold, but the touch was pleasant.
“There is so much rage in it, but it is the most beautiful expression of anger that I’ve seen,” she said still studying his work. “I never found a way to let it out of my system. I just bury all my hurts and fears inside me,” she admitted, sounding much more sober.
It was probably the cool night air taking away the effect of the alcohol. And he was glad for that. Some part of him wanted her to remember this encounter, even if she did remember him as some random street artist criminal. L. felt his palms get sweaty as she watched him work. A strange feeling for someone who quite confidently knew he was one of the best artists in the city. Still, he had never drawn even a line in anyone’s presence.
Luckily for him, Enya decided to spend more of her energy talking to him than watching him work. He painted as she spoke, understanding her need to just spill everything out to a complete stranger, knowing he would carry away her secrets. Enya’s brows drew together as she spoke about her ex, the story of their relationship never seeming to end. Still, he loved her sarcastic humor as she told the story.
As an artist, L. should have been ashamed that he spent more time looking at his mystery girl than at the work he was trying to finish. He studied her face as she talked. Her freckles grew a shade darker when she talked about something that annoyed her and they caught the shiny street lights when she laughed or told some funny incident. He found that he adored those cute little dots on her face much more than he should. His eyes followed each one as she spoke, memorizing how it looked upon her face.
“I don’t care, I’m happy,” she said and he realized he had missed a part of her story while being carried away by her bright freckles.
“You should say it louder so that the world can hear you,” he joked.
She struggled a moment to climb on her feet, then, throwing her arms to her sides she yelled: “I am happy!”
“Can’t hear you,” L. teased.
She repeated her confession even louder and it echoed in the emptiness of the night streets. The wind carried some pieces of her happiness away to spread throughout the city.
“How happy?” he decided to challenge her a bit more.
“This happy,” she looked into his eyes and though they were hidden behind his yellow glasses he thought she could see right through his soul. L. did not get the time to ask what she meant when she threw herself into his arms, pulled his mask a little bit up, revealing his mouth and conquered his lips in an unexpected kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, crashing every protective wall he had erected around himself to isolate from the outer world, stealing his breath, steering his thoughts. Her lips were brave and naughty. He groaned as she bit his tongue. Jolts of pleasure spread through his body.
“You know what you’re doing to me, right?” he spoke right into her mouth.
He was not ready to tear himself away. Her mouth was sweet. Her fresh flowery scent washed over him.
“Maybe,” she chuckled.